


Deny the Hungry Grave

by FuzzyAnkleSocks



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fix-It of Sorts, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-02-27 13:33:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18740065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuzzyAnkleSocks/pseuds/FuzzyAnkleSocks
Summary: From his "birth" V started to grow, moment by scant moment, into something new. Released back into the human world he has nothing. No friends, no one to rely on, no purpose. He has to find his way in the world as a grown man with a month's worth of life experience.*currently under reconstruction*





	1. Sweet Form

**Author's Note:**

> V has joined the pantheon of characters I'm basically in love with. The way he just ceased to exist touches on very personal fears of mine and makes my chest ache. So I'm writing this. Achingly slow because of who I am as a person.
> 
> There is apparently on screen time of Vergil and Dante dealing with the roots but that must've been unlocked at a higher difficulty than normal. I love these games. I'm not good at them.

Vergil quietly exalted the wind under the wings of his devil form. Not that his flight lasted long. A few moments and he was through the portal to the demon world. Blue skies giving way to one like dried blood. He landed next to his brother. The tang of copper in his nose was familiar if not welcome.

In hell again. Less shocking than him and Dante standing shoulder to shoulder. Cutting through swathes of lesser demons, each action ingrained in muscle memory through thousands of repetitions. It required little thought from Vergil.

So he mulled over all that had just transpired.

Him, whole again for perhaps an hour. Defeated twice. Once by his brother and once more by his son. Vergil should have been livid. And yet.

Vergil studied the leviathan roots twisting up and through the portal hanging in the air like a macabre sun.

“Uh Vergil? Maybe time to get this show on the road?” Dante spoke so casually. As if the brothers’ uneasy reconciliation were years in the past and not minutes.

“You never did have any patience for art.” Vergil sniped. But Dante was right. The roots of the Qliphoth were pulsing with nauseating life and more were progressing through the portal to the human world by the second.

A situation more suited to him than Dante. More specifically to Yamato. Dante would be at it for days exterminating the Qliphoth roots himself. Days they -the human world- didn't have.

He and Dante were on a plateau that gave them an expansive view of the chaos surrounding the portal. The natural architecture was largely pink with pieces that writhed from time to time. The demons climbing the roots toward the portal looked like fleas from the brothers’ vantage point.

A thrill went up Vergil’s spine. As it always did when he was about to test himself. A hand on Yamato’s scabbard. A hand on its hilt.

He would slice through it all. Vergil saw the landscape differently. In his mind’s eye was every atom making up what he saw. Felt the weight of certainty that none of it could resist his will.  
No eye could have followed Yamato as Vergil drew it. The blue light inherent to Vergil’s power was brighter, more abundant than ever. Then the very world fractured. As blue line after blue line tore at everything in view, Vergil felt for a moment his blue light scoring him as well, he wondered if he’d just destroyed himself along with the portal and Qliphoth roots.

Dante crouched down next to Vergil who wasn't sure when he’d ended up panting on his hands and knees. Too exhausted to be disgusted by the fleshy give of the ground beneath.

“Ho-leee shit.” Dante whistled and Vergil looked up to see what he’d wrought.

But there was no way for him to see all that had changed with that single stroke of Yamato.

 

* * *

 

It is common occult knowledge that silver is an excellent conductor of arcane energies. That the cane on the ground was silver and of an ornate design was all one might learn from studying it.

Until it was suffused with blue light.

The body that appeared as it faded was at first impressionistic. Pallid vagueness of skin and a jet smear for hair. Textures bled into being giving depth and weight. Cold skin grew warm and took on the movements of life. Pulse dancing a steady tempo in the throat. A chest that had no business doing so moved up and down.

Eventually V’s eyes opened. Hazy like a drunk’s they meandered, taking in buildings toppled like children’s playing blocks. He found himself sat like a child. Arms caging his dirty knees. Weak sunlight occasionally breaking through dishwater clouds.

It felt resuscitative on his skin.

“Tell me where dwell the thoughts forgotten till thou call them forth.” V’s voice was dry, his recitation holding none of the usual richness. He was half surprised to not cough and find grave soil in his hands when he opened his mouth.

The last Thing V remembered was the bladed cane beside him being thrust into Urizen. V never considered what a natural death might feel like. He simply never had the time. But he doubt it felt like the jigsawing of fitting two so different entities back into one complex, conflicted men. Like a chemical reaction the original components burned to nothing. V’s last fully realized thought had been as to whether Vergil would have the memories that had been cultivated in his scant month of existence. Either answer would’ve left V bitter were he around to know it. But his end had come, consciousness burned away like a match.

Which begged the pertinent question. V sat there pondering until orange began to kiss the blue sky. Then he rose. Naked with a cane his hand curled around with habitual grace. For the first time in his existence (this new one or the old) V was not quite sure what he should be doing with himself.

It was several minutes before he came upon something more substantial than rubble. Small and unassuming. And oddly separate for the urban configuration of Redgrave City. The gothic touches, including a wrought iron gate suggested it may have once been a small church. There was even an idyllic smattering of potted plants around the perimeter of the building.

As he pulled at the handle V heard the rattle of several locks. Once that would have been very little to stop him. As it was he went around the side and used his cane to knock out the remaining teeth of a shattered window before pulling himself up and in. There was no one around to see his pride hurt when he ended up sprawled on his naked back.

The interior was dark but he could still make out flaking religious murals in the gloom. Definitely used to be a church. But in place of orderly pews were haphazard bookshelves crammed to bursting. Not a single one matched. Some even bore the faded ghosts of children's’ crayon markings.

Which made the demonic statue in the midst of it all more striking. It could have have merely been the bust of a beautiful man. If not for the sigil carved at the base of it. V ran his fingers alongs the grooves of the sigil but didn’t feel anything. No power, no connection. Equally likely he lacked the ability to sense anything as there was nothing to sense.

So V’s perusing continued. He found a crackerbox room. Probably originally meant as a priest’s old office. Apparently it had been repurposed as the most recent proprietor's room.

Luckily for V he was not apparently a large man. A charcoal turtleneck and slacks just a shade darker. V fancied he looked academic studying himself in a small desk mirror.

Studying his body as he changed had been unpleasant. Seeing his body completely barren of ink drove home how alone he was in this new territory. V didn’t know what to do without Gryphon or Shadow. How to defend himself. Of course he could've been flaking away and dissipating in the wind. It was the little things. 

V gazed through a rare intact window. Night was truly falling and the gloom of the library would be pitch in minutes. Drawers and cupboards were left carelessly open as he rifled through them until he came across a few stubby candles and a half used matchbook. It was enough to keep V from stumbling around and that was all he really gave a damn about. He didn’t bother with a proper receptacle for them, though there would surely have been some had he cared to look. He lit one and used the flame from it to melt the bottom of another and affixed it directly to a small oak table in the bedroom. He repeated it until had the trio of candles burning merrily away.

And then he weaved through the eclectic rows of books. V’s suspicions were confirmed from the first he grabbed and leafed through. A church converted to a library of the occult. Each bookshelf was dedicated to a different subject; demonic hierarchy, divination, conjuring. No organization beyond that. So he grabbed anything that seemed like it might pertain to his situation in the slightest and went back to the bedroom and the burning candles.

Half the prodigious stack were put to the side as irrelevant within minutes of being opened. Then a tome relating to all things made to resemble human. Homunculi, golems, every last folk tale that could be referring to doppelgangers. Nothing like V though. Vergil was a pioneer when it came to literally splitting one's self in two. Which meant V had no way of knowing either why he’d reappeared or what would happen now. Not that he expected things to be so easy. In his short life nothing ever had been.

Hour passed like minutes and eventually V looked up and blinked against sunlight. His eyes may have sparked like jade but he felt as dull as the concrete monolith that was the city outside. 

“Tell me what is the night or day to one overflowed with woe?” He muscled through the wave of nausea that crested when he stood. And that filled him with a surge of fear. Because he didn’t know whether he was experiencing simple fatigue.

Panic aside he none the less collapsed into the narrow bed and was adrift in moments. Still dressed in clothing belonging to whoever it was that acted as caretaker to this occult haven.

* * *

 

  
The van’s body must’ve been Nico’s own welding job. Probably out of the same stuff she made Nero’s devil breakers from. It had no business surviving that roll without a scratch otherwise. Better off than Nero who got a face full of Nico’s ashtray and was spitting out the window.

Nico had a grin as she lit her next cigarette. Maybe from the van’s tumble. Maybe from the pack of demons emerging from the collapsed building. Nero was putting Blue Rose on his back as he threw open the door to the van.

Nero looked back before he got started to see Nico holding a camcorder up.

“Oh what the fuck Nico.” He was glad for his new arm but it just wasn’t as dramatic when he flipped people off. He shot a hell caina hoping to take advantage of his distraction. Nero didn’t get to do much more before a rocket exploded. The demons were turned to ash and Nero was thrown back into the side of the van. Hard enough it rocked onto two wheels before it slammed back down.

And the damn thing still didn't have a dent. Lady waved as she walked through the hole in the wall Kalina Ann made. Four people in the whole damn city and they seemed to keep on running into each other. The air crackled as Trish finished off some stragglers that were late to the party.

“It’s not an endless stream of them anymore. Though I doubt getting rid of them will get anyone moving back in anytime soon.” There was the usual careful skirting of the topic of the rest of the world outside of Red Grave. Trish kicked smoking remains not dissipating fast enough for her taste out of her way as she explored a corner store. The bell jingled merrily as she went it.

“Not anyone I’d want as a neighbor anyway.”

Nero rolled his neck as he stood. He followed Trish in. The chocolate he opened was old and he could see the white film from the separated fat. He bit into it anyway. Trish was playing with a silver lighter, flicking it open and closed, leaning against the counter.

“They’re scarcer by the day. We’re doing quick work.” She looked more like a bored teenager than a demon.

“If we’re working this fast here Dante and Vergil probably have hell half empty by now.” Trish didn’t give Nero an answer, simply flicking the lighter closed and striding past him out of the cramped space. Neither woman ever had much to say when Nero brought his father and uncle up.

“Nico let’s go.” He tossed a sports drink through the van window at her. She stuck her tongue out and took a swig anyway.

The two groups didn’t run into each other again throughout the day. Though Nero and Nico wouldn’t have been hard to find. The sounds of engine revving and shrieking tires could be heard through the empty city.

“What’s their problem?” Nero got along with the pair of women as well as he did any bossy woman. But the way neither gave a damn was what really drove him crazy. He’d grilled them both one night in the Devil May Cry office. About how Dante had gotten out of hell the last time, if there was anyway to help him back from the human world. Neither had ever gotten any specifics from Dante and didn’t seem particularly broken up about it. Nero had barely resisted the urge to put a new hole in the wall. Kyrie would’ve been proud.

“Oh hell what’re they s’possed to do? Sacrifice a goat or something?” It was pretty childish of Nero to ignore her holding the cigarette to her lips. He kept her hanging until the idea she might just start driving with her knees pops into his head.

“There’s gotta be someone who knows all this stupid demon crap,” Nero rested his temple against the window as he really started getting invested in the idea.

“Demons had shown up in Red Grave way before we got here. It must’ve brought in some sort of weirdos. If they’re not dead they might just come back. Once this place becomes livable again.” Nero knew he was probably grasping at straws as he spoke. He’d keep on grasping as long as he had a chance of getting the family he’d just found back.

“So we just keep doing what we’re doing then yeah? Killing demons, setting things right one ugly son of a bitch at a time,” Nico looked away from the road to Nero for what he felt was a hazardous amount of time.“Sounds good to me.”


	2. Pangs of Hope

Even with the sun bright overhead the library’s interior remained muted. V had not had a restful sleep. Evidenced by how he lay tangled in navy sheets on the hardwood. His head was swimming by the time he disentangled himself. And the scattered books he’d pored over the night before may as well have been a nest of vipers for all their appeal.

V was hungry. He clutched his stomach as it cramped from emptiness. Thirsty too, his mouth so dry it made him gag.

He was loathe to leave the many locks on the heavy door open as he left to find food and drink. But he hadn't found a single key the night before and he didn't care to climb in through the window a second time. V left the cane leaning in the doorway hoping to have plenty to bring back.

He didn't bother to find a proper store on his search, instead settling for the nearest collection of apartments. The security gate had been sheared with ease by something with very large claws.

Most apartment doors weren’t shut nevermind locked. V’s pale feet avoided the occasional puddles of leftover gore. He entered the closest apartment. The air was thick with fruit flies he waved away from his face. After the first wafting of noxious air from a dinner long abandoned V avoided breathing through his nose.  
  
Non perishables then. And lucky for him Red Grave’s water was poor. There were several cases of water bottles beneath the sink. V immediately cracked one open and started to drink deep. The bottle was empty in moments, a rivulet of water ran down the side of his throat. A canister of roasted peanuts on the edge of a kitchen island was tipped into his mouth. Stale, V knew but he had minimal experience with fresh food anyway.

V didn’t genuinely feel like a thief until he started going through the bedrooms. A child’s was the first in the hallway. Staggeringly girly with at least three shades of pink and a continuing butterfly motif. He closed the door quickly. Doubtful there was anything useful and he couldn’t bring himself to go through a little girl’s private things.

It couldn’t be called a prayer, but V quietly hoped she was somewhere alive. Maybe he’d even contributed to that.

What could safely be assumed was the parents’ room was an inoffensive collection of beige and browns. The leather and canvas bag slung over a vanity table was a quick grab. He wouldn’t be juggling supplies he grabbed in his arms at least. The wardrobe was mostly empty for V’s purposes unless he had his heart set on a lovely low cut dress. But he found some oxfords he could wear when he put on two pairs of socks. V wouldn't have to walk so timidly watching for glass and viscera at every stept.  
  
He went back to the kitchen quickly filling the bag with water and various cans. V filled it as completely as he could. So naturally a can fell out as soon as he put the bag across his torso. Like a thunderclap after the constant silence V had been surrounded by. His heart rate spiked despite himself. He bent under the table set with putrid food to retrieve it. As he grabbed the can he heard a sound.

Chittering and the constant, too rapid falling of insect legs. He burned with fear. As well as self disgust over that fear. The door to the apartment was still ajar and V didn’t dare make a move to close it. He started to step slowly towards the small hallway with the bedroom doors. Without accounting for louder footsteps since the he was wearing shoes. He knew the mistake from the first footfall and made a dash for the parents bedroom, hearing the apartment door being slammed into by the empusa behind him. The bedroom door locked but that didn’t matter much with the cheap faux wood it was made of.  
  
Green eyes scanned the room frantically for something that would serve as a weapon. While he panicked the empusa’s scythe appendages sliced through the door. Clothes were thrown to the ground as V wrenched the hanging pole from the closet. Aluminum. He was going to die because of cheap furnishings. The door was half splinters and the empusa was trying to force its body through the sfar too narrow space. V pulled a sheet off the bed and as the empusa cleared the doorway he threw it at its face. It bought him an extra moment to brace his legs as he thrusted the rod at its head like a spear. Which mostly just made a loud metallic noise. The end of the rod was quickly lopped off by the empusa’s pincers.

V could see how the next few moments would play out. He would back into the wall with nowhere to go and weapons that would prove equally effective as the rod. He could imagine how the carpet would darken and stiffen as his blood soaked in and dried. Not willing to die so easily, V really only had one choice.

He threw himself between its numerous legs, crawling into the hallway. V was lucky its sickle like appendage only slashed his leg instead of pinning it to the ground. He staggered to his feet leaning against the wall as he hurried. The empusa was too large to follow him swiftly. But that only gave him a precious few seconds to work with.

Even if he could outrun it, (unlikely) the commotion from the chase, as well as his blood, would draw the attention of any other demons lingering nearby. He pulled out the largest knife from the block on the counter in the kitchen. V tried not to breathe too loudly as he waited at the corner where the hallway gave way to the rest of the apartment.

Children were more inventive when planning a surprise party. At least empusa were stupid. Another can was quickly pulled from the bag and V rolled it across the hallway as he heard the empusa nearing. It moved quickly tracking the moving object instinctively.

V remembered a time when he fought like he was conducting an orchestra. When demons like the one before him were insignificant. Throwing himself onto the empusa while brandishing a kitchen knife was nothing like that. His calf screamed painful protests as he did. The knife was plunged at the junction of its neck. The blade was serrated and V couldn’t pull it back out of the chitinous hide after the first strike.

V had seen a mechanical bull in an abandoned bar once and had puzzled out the point of it with Griffon's help. What followed was a bit like that except he was probably going to die. V plunged his fingers into the knife wound hoping to disrupt something vital. He must’ve, demon blood sprayed the room and himself rhythmically and the empusa slowed beneath him. He relaxed his grip too soon and it bucked knocking him to the floor.

The air was knocked from him. The empusa loomed, still gushing blood from its neck. V scrambled backwards. As the demon advanced V was looking for absolutely anything he could use. He didn’t even fully stand up as he grabbed the doorknob to the daughter’s room as hard as he could against the empusa. It spoke to the fact he’d done significant damage already since it actually reacted to the impact. V rushed into the bedroom as fast as he could with his injured leg. He grabbed the lamp from the bedside table and rounded back. The empusa wasn’t even bothering to negotiate a doorway for the third time. It’s not like V had any other way to escape.

He smashed the lamp into the facsimile of a face in between the empusa’s compound eyes. Pink porcelain shards stuck in several places. V ground them in deeper heedless of the cuts he earned for it across his hands. The pincers opened and closed several times trying to catch his arms, but its attempts were sluggish. Soon the empusa’s legs crumpled beneath its body. Its scythes still worked weakly (for a demon) at V’s back but the adrenaline limited his awareness to the hot slickness of blood running down his back.  
  
It disintegrated finally and V sank back to the ground further saturating the previously bubblegum carpet with blood. Painfully aware how easily he could bleed out, he started to stand up, pausing and hissing as the fresh wounds on his back stretched. He stayed hunched as he stood favoring his left leg heavily as his right calf continued to bleed gradually.

There were medical supplies in the bathroom. The only room free of blood, at least until V limped in and carefully perched himself on the edge of the tub. Rather than attempting to pull the whole shirt over his head V cut the fabric with bandage scissors. sticky shredded pieces of cloth essentially glued with blood to his body were peeled away. With several breaks as the fabric pulling of his wounds made his vision blur.

Several water bottles were poured over his shoulder down his finally bare back. Clenched teeth caged screams as the antiseptic followed. When the ordeal was done he slumped in relief.

His hair hung around his face in stiff sections. A longing glance was thrown at the showerhead that was certainly useless. The roll of gauze went around V’s washed and disinfected calf. Every last available bandaid was used on his hands. He lacked the ability or the supplies to bandage his back.

After he was done he just sat there. Breathing. Being alive if only just. Getting up he caught his reflection in the cabinet mirror.

“Lo, a shadow of horror is risen.” Corpse like beyond his usual pallor and too tired to bother with the various flies partaking of the blood that hadn’t been washed away. V could only twist a small amount to see his back in the mirror. The slashes were numerous and criss crossing each other. There was no way the disinfectant had reached them all.

Full of self pity from how harrowing the encounter with a single demon had been V still recognized the fact he hadn’t bled out was miraculous. Already the great majority of his back was scabbing over. He remained something more durable, if not stronger, than human.

He re entered the adult bedroom with much lower standards. Various colors and patterns of cloth were strewn about the room. Several pieces had been slashed as the empusa rampaged.

“And yet the cocktail dress is in perfect condition.” V desperately needed the weak little laugh he managed. Scrounging through the items he found a navy hoodie and sweatpants. Both swallowed his form and he had to pull the drawstring on the bottoms as tightly as possible to keep them on his hips. The fabric wouldn’t aggravate his wounds at least.

It was time to head back to the library. He stilled in the doorway listening for a long time for any chittering or too many legs. V leaned against everything and anything he could as he made his way out of the apartment block.  
  
V missed his cane.

The library was in sight and he felt his shoulders relax. Hurrying his limping gait the last hundred yards. Until he went to turn the doorknob and it didn’t yield. A tug and he heard the familiar chorus of several engaged locks. Whatever did that was far too much for him to deal with in his state.

V turned to limp away until he heard the first lock unlock.

* * *

 

Nico had been tinkering for a couple of hours and Nero was bored. He’d asked what she was doing but he didn’t get anything more than a shooing gesture and eventually a cussing out. So he went back to doing just about nothing. There weren’t any roving packs of demons anymore. Individuals were dug in like ticks and the racket of Nico’s driving wasn’t enough to attract them anymore.

And when they did find anything Nero was done in a matter of seconds.

“I think I’ve seen this clip twenty times.” Nero complained. He was looking at a small tv secured in the corner of the van. The same handful of recordings from the initial invasion had been broadcast repeatedly on international news. Nero knew various sequences by heart and found himself silently counting down to the moment.

It started with a reporter just outside the city limits of Red Grave. The camera focusing on the Qliphoth dominating the skyline as she spoke. When he finished his silent countdown the camera focused back on her as a riot demon jumped from out of frame onto the smartly dressed reporter. Her horror was cut short. One bite and there was only a spurting stump where her face had been. Audio picked up screaming from several sources and the camera started to move as the man behind it began to run. The transmission had cut out there. He'd been disgusted and angry for the woman's fate the first five times he'd seen it.

“I’m finished.” Nico was triumphant waving her new creation about.

“Cool. What the hell is it?” It looked like a regular canister to Nero. So innocuous to be suspicious. Nero figured it had to be some sort of doomsday device for how big Nico’s grin was.

“It’s what's gonna clear out the last of them demon bastards in one fell swoop.” Nico whooped while holding the device up like a trophy.

“You made a bomb?” Nero shifted away from her as if that would a difference if it detonated.

“Nuh uh. A lure. I used a bunch of scraps from the different demon parts you gave me. Once I set this baby off its gonna be a beacon of power. Like catnip.” She kissed the side of it.

“So what’re we waiting for?” Nero felt himself infected by her excitement. He hoped something interesting showed up for the bait.

“The right spot. It’s gonna be a huge brawl and I want a good view.” The pair shared a grin.

* * *

The man was so nonthreatening V was off kilter. As he was invited into the library he was certain the stranger’s flesh was going to melt away revealing some fresh horror. V reclaimed his cane quickly. He wouldn’t be able to do much with it if came to that but it was reassuring regardless.

“You were lucky to find my little sanctuary. Even so, I’m surprised anyone could’ve survived so long within the city limits,” The man looked like a walking caricature of a college professor. From the patched elbows on his blazer to the thick black frame of his glasses. A side part to his short hair as straight as a razor. “ I’ve got a friend at the military blockade. Asked him to let me know when things died down a bit. I wanted to get back here as soon as possible.” The stranger patted the demonic bust like an old friend as he explained.

“Even so, you must be capable of fighting demons to have made it here.” V was still studying the man intensely, looking for a sign to confirm that man in front of him wasn’t human. Or at least not completely.

“More so than the average person. But that’s not saying much. I would’ve died if I’d been there when the Qliphoth first materialized. I heard about a few civilians helping with evacuations. You match one of their descriptions.” V refrained from jolting hearing the man so casually name the demon tree. He saw an edge of his lips curl anyway. It wrankled to be caught out so easily. The man probably thought V still had the power to face down demons easily. He was covered in entirely too much blood for it to be all his own. It was in his best interest to maintain that belief.

“I’m not so loathsome to stand by when I know I can be of use.” Every moment was a balancing act between hiding his battered state from the strange man and not aggravating his numerous wounds. V suspected he was not entirely successful from the way the strangers eyes would flick to his leg whenever he shifted his weight in attempt to accommodate whatever injury was protesting the loudest. Overly long sleeves mostly hid his bandaged hands.

“Admirable. I hit the city limits before the tree even appeared.” The man was matter of fact. No pride. But he wasn’t ashamed either. V felt the meaning of the words sink in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm constantly terrified the quality of my writing degrades as i go. I've read through several times and probably will read through and edit it again. I hope it doesn't notify people every time I do.
> 
> If V is gonna grow, he needs to meet and interact more people, original characters are gonna happen. But they will never be the focus.
> 
> Writing action scenes is hard and I'm pretty sure I failed but it's Devil May Cry so it's not like I can just avoid it.


	3. Deceitful Wiles

Easy to recognize that he was being unreasonable. But unassuming as the man was, he had reclaimed the only sanctuary V had found. And seeming gentle wasn’t enough to distract V from the fact the man had just essentially told him he’d known about the impending demon rampage.

The stranger continued to talk to V while walking around checking over the state of the library. V’s various paths were visible in the thick layer of dust blanketing everything.

“You can make yourself at home here. Though it appears you already have,” He said emerging from the makeshift bedroom. He was scanning the piecemeal shelves. “My name is Ethan by the way.”

“You can call me V.” Ethan had no visible reaction to his strange name. Belatedly through a haze of exhaustion V thought it may have been wise to come up with an alias. Conversation died quickly as books were arranged and rearranged. If there was some sort of system or meaning to it, it was unfathomable to anyone besides the Ethan himself.

V tried not to lean too heavily on his cane as he made his way to the back room. Hopefully his sigh didn’t carry far as he dropped into the chair at the desk. Going boneless at the long awaited relief, V drifted blessedly asleep as he slouched further into the chair. His sleeping mind played a jumbling mess of scythes and flies on corpses.

The sun was still high in the sky when he awoke with a jolt to a cranking noise. V almost tripped over his overly large sweatpants when he stood. His injuries mumbled instead of yelled as he went to investigate what could have been making the noise so close. V mustered some grace despite looking like a child in their parent’s clothes as he entered the library area.

Several bookshelves were pushed to the walls. More importantly the bust that had stood proudly in the very middle was moved several feet back. Along with the floor, revealing a bare concrete staircase leading into a previously hidden basement. Ethan saw V and waved him over from where he stood on the first step.

“I love the classics. I was going for a whole Bram Stoker vibe with this.” The older man was giddy as he led V down, his hand dragging over one of the sconces in the wall as he walked down the stairs.

The basement made the library upstairs look desolate. Rows of more bookshelves wall to wall. These ones nearly kissed the basement ceiling. There were of a fine rich wood and the rows between so narrow one would have to turn sideways to walk them.

All of the books were old and many of them looked as if they’d been bound by hand. Ethan breathed deeply seemingly invigorated by the scent..

"You didn't think those books above were important? No the real power is hidden. It always is."

“And why exactly are you sharing this with me?” V started to edge back up the steps, smelling an ulterior motive from a mile away.

“You need power don’t you?” Ethan spoke like he was offering V a pen. V stepped back into the basement despite himself. If you knew the story, Red Grave itself was a cautionary tale against the blind pursuit of power. But that didn’t mean V was going to just stay the helpless thing he’d become. He was playing to Ethan's tune, but he had little other choice.

As V approached him Ethan held out a book to him. It was careworn and had obviously been paged through often. It was probably a flight of fancy to think the book was particularly warm to the touch. Present or not, V wasn’t eager to stay in close quarters.

With no chairs V sat on the ground with his back to the cold stone wall. Gingerly. He opened and heard the old materials crackle, the first time the book had been opened in many years no doubt. The pages were not typical paper, some sort of parchment. Whatever language was written in the book V didn’t know it. In fact from the changing from an almost cursive curving script to jagged angles gave him the impression the book contained more than one. Not knowing the language didn’t stop V from absorbing something from the book.

That heat the pages held proved itself real as it seeped into V, traveling through him like a languid river. It was like a lazy afternoon sunbathing. Aside from the way the sensation focused on the wounds big and small across his body. Warmer than the rest and quickly going numb. V quickly unwrapped a bandage around a finger and felt a little weak. Tracing the path of the scar the skin had gone a sickly grey. Prodding the skin with another finger V found he still had sensation, just no pain. Aside from the concrete color, the skin was indistinguishable from the rest.

It did little to ease the rising panic. V wished he was fire rather than acid. That he were the type to get up and demand ‘what the fuck did you do to me?’ rather than feeling the rage pump through him with every heartbeat. Ethan looked unaffected by the poisonous look that had been sent his way instead. V did rise then, unhindered by pain that had been mysteriously magicked away.

His cane struck the bare stone floor hard as he stalked up to Ethan about to demand an explanation.

When the air was cut through with a chorus of shrieks loud enough to make V’s ears ring for a moment even underground. He threw a dark look Ethan’s way before quickly climbing back up the basement stairs.

Going to a window to see outside, V’s grip on the cane tightened until his knuckles went white. He had never seen demons move so single mindedly without prey in sight. It was foolish if not suicidal but V decided to follow. Even with the space he gave the mob, the way he went ignored was unnatural.

He felt light as he ran to keep up with the demons. They were of all types, gleefully cutting each other down as they got in each other’s way. They were perhaps twenty. A week ago the streets would have been clogged by hundreds.

The chase concluded in what qualified as Red Grave’s attempt at a park. It was probably just as hideous before the Qliphoth tree. The plants were parched and overgrown. The most notable landmark being the dry marble fountain in the middle. Or perhaps the familiar van that had parked right next to it on the grass.

Nico was sat on top of her van, turning this way and that with a camcorder in hand as the demons poured in from every direction. She looked delighted. Then V spotted the silver and blue blur laying waste to the demons. He’d stop occasionally to rev Red Queen and that’s when V caught sight of his arm. Evidently V’s little sabbatical from existence had left him behind on current events. Nero had some sort of gauntlet that behaved similarly to his devil breakers’ but V could see muscles moving organically underneath. That may have been the most striking change V saw in the young devil hunter but it wasn’t the only one. Nero had grown into his power. He moved like a predator, confident that every bit of sinew and muscle would move exactly when and how he willed it. There was a certain economy of movement to him. When he wasn’t showing off for Nico and her camcorder. V realized he was staring.

The trend of him going ignored continued. In fact the only reason Nero was met with aggression was because he was defending a perimeter around some sort of artifact. It looked like a firework. A canister set on the ground, the top sparking continuously. Demons were lunging for it constantly only to be thrown back or into each other. Perhaps a hundred, most of them of familiar, relatively weak varieties. Nero would lunge at one interloper with Red Queen burning in his hand, only to have to quickly double back as other demons took advantage of his distraction to claim their prize.

Then Nero spotted V at the edge of the park. V couldn’t hear him but it wasn’t hard to read the ‘what the fuck’ spilling from Nero’s mouth. It was unfortunate timing. The small pause in his actions meant rather than sweeping it aside easily Nero ended up with his blade locked against the spinning plates of a chaos demon.

“Hey HEY! Get that thing! Get ‘im!” Nico was pointing franticly at the pyrobat that had perched onto the canister. The sparks coming out from it danced along the small demon’s skin. It quickly began to mutate. Nero finally wedged his sword in between two plates stopping the chaos demon’s spinning. It was quickly bisected and Nero turned to face the new threat.

The other demons had backed away from the mutated pyrobat. Blood poured onto the ground, its hide ripping unable to accommodate the sudden growth of its bones. The originally garnet color of its wings went neon and the veins visible within were pulsing erratically. It’s new wingspan was nearly equal with the van behind it. It’s upper body swelled as the flames within were kindled. V was as a safe distance but Nero and Nico were both within range of the flames about to be spewed.

Nico scrambled down from the roof back into the van just as the fire was loosed. The pyrobat expelled the fire directly above its head as if in parody of the fountain. The flames fell all around it. The van would’ve been melted. But Nico threw it in reverse, the tires screamed their protest and spun on the pavement for a few moments before the van flew backwards.

Without either a power source or Nico to protect, Nero was able to cut loose. He quickly grappled in close to the pyrobat to shoot it point blank sending the bat hurtling to the ground disoriented. When he smashed into it with red queen it should’ve been done for. But whatever Nico had put in her project was potent. It started to inflate for another burst of flame. Nero drew in close to stop the pyro bat but it exhaled early, it was only a small gout of flame, but it was right in Nero’s face.

Nero cringed back and that was all the opportunity the demon needed. In the meantime the others had finished spectating. Attention was split between Nico and V. Nico had thrown the side door to the van wide and was keeping her attackers at bay with a shotgun. V sidestepped the first demon that jumped for him with ease. His body felt strong, something that had become foreign to him. V took advantage with relish. He turned to an empusa first, burning with shame from his last encounter with one. The blade of the cane sliced through its head cleanly leaving V breathless.

If only the whole affair had gone so smoothly. It was muscle memory that botched it, he expected the familiar black mass to appear under his feet moving him out of danger at the last second. That didn’t happen and V only realized at the very last moment. He threw himself out of the path of a hell caina’s scythe with too much force getting clipped by another on the forearm for the mistake. The cost would’ve been much steeper if Nero hadn’t aimed a few well placed shots at the demons nearest V giving him some space. The pair shared a look.

V owed Nero some answers. What few he had. Behind Nero the mutated pyro bat was twitching in its death throes. Entirely too slow about it for Nero’s taste so its head ended up skewered by red queen. Nero revving the sword with it already lodged in the demon’s skull was perhaps a bit excessive.

The encounter was largely over. Nero chased down some of stragglers escaping back into the maze of a ruined city. Nico looked through the remains of the battle. She was especially interested in the mutant corpse.

“What the hell are you doing here V?” Nero had walked up and asked without preamble. V supposed he should’ve counted himself fortunate that Nero wasn’t already preparing for another fight.

“That’s the pertinent question. I may not know the reason, but you won’t have an apology from me for existing.” V was surprised by his own defensive tone.

“Look, you used me and everyone, and frankly I’m still a little pissed off. If I had my own way we’d be done with each other. But I really doubt you showed back up for no reason so I’m going to be keeping an eye on you,” Nero gestured at the van with its door wide open and Nico in the driver seat who’d begun to lay on the horn “So get moving.” Nero didn’t look back as he walked to the van.

The interior was the same as V remembered. The miniature divinity statue sat in its corner. He was unsure whether he’d even be able to commune with it. He didn’t dare anyway, the atmosphere in the van was just too awkward. It wasn’t as though the pair sitting in the front seats had ever called V their friend. Nico started the van, slamming the gas and veering down one of the streets in pursuit of the renegade demons.

“Thought you went back into Vergil or whatever.” Nico looked over her shoulder her cigarette pointing at V between her fingers. He shrugged.

“So did I.” He could tell her what it felt like. That is was less a jigsaw puzzle being put back together than a chemical reaction. Awareness diminishing like he’d been drugged once the cane he still held had been thrust into the demon he’d named himeslf’s chest. There’d been no pain. Just the fear that had pulsed molten in his own chest. He wouldn’t tell her. Nico either let the silence pass or was too focused on the chasing down demons to give V shit over it.

Nero’s questions were more practical, where he’d been, what he’d been doing. V ended up detailing the whole story, short as it was. Nero showed no little interest in the strange occult library.

“Don’t know how something like that was here without anyone ever hearing about it.” V didn’t have an explanation.

Nico ran down the first demon she saw, the van jumping as it went full speed over its body. It fishtailed as she made a hairpin turn, the bulky van only just barely clearing the walls of a small backalley. Halting the knot of demons that had used it for their escape route. Nero was already standing.

“Hey, hey what’s wrong with you, you psycho?” Nico yelled. He didn’t have enough space to open the van’s door so he’d crawled out the window and jumped down from the hood. His feet thudding heavily.

A look of ‘ain’t you going?’ was thrown to V who’d made no move to follow.

V tried to step lightly but he had little choice but to walk on the hood as well.


End file.
